


eternal sunshine of the spotless Chris

by Dandybear



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Chris's amnesia fic, F/M, Headcanon, Jill had reasons for being absent in RE6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:55:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2432858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandybear/pseuds/Dandybear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you think… that if given the chance to start your life all over--would you make the same decisions? Fall in love with the same person?”</p><p>Chris has a not-so-random hookup with a not-quite-a-stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	eternal sunshine of the spotless Chris

The bar smells of stale cigarettes, vodka pungent as gasoline, and sausage.

 

Scratch that. Everything in Edonia smells that way. Or at least that’s been Chris’s experience.

 

It’s cold in here. It never stops being cold. The chill gets into his bones and eats away at any warmth. He’s got a pretty high cold threshold, so that’s saying something. He remembers (vaguely) frozen caves and short sleeves.

 

The jukebox chokes to life. He didn’t know the bar had one. Willie Nelson’s tinny voice. (You were always on my mind.)

 

There’s the swishing of sleeves and a woman plops onto the stool next to him. Pale skin, large nose, pouty lower lip, moon eyes a strange assortment of features. They work on her. She’s a fine looking woman for these parts.

 

She orders straight vodka in a sharp Russian accent. Northerner, typical.

 

He swills the booze and ice around his glass. He leans back to check the score of the hockey game on TV and ends up making eye contact with a guy he’s blown in the bathroom. The man swipes his tongue over his teeth and raises his brows at Chris. Usually he’d take the invitation. Something stops him.

 

The woman next to him’s perfume. It’s prickling his nose. Like a lost sneeze. It’s on the tip of his tongue. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye and takes a swig of her vodka.

 

What the fuck is her perfume called? He’s smelled it before.

 

She says something to him in Russian. It sounds like “Ya tebya something something”. Chris struggles to translate but his brain is always foggy and liquor doesn’t make it easier. Instead he shakes his head. She tries again in Serbian.

 

“English.” He growls.

 

“Come here often?” Her accent is perfect.

 

She turns to him fully and he needs a moment because those moon eyes have him pinned. He feels apologetic, like he should start kissing her feet.

 

“Uhhh yeah. I’m a regular, isn’t that right Olga?”

 

“Be fucking yourself, Redfield!”

 

“Yeah, they love me here.”

 

Her expression is blank. It should bother him, but it doesn’t.

 

“So, uh, are you Russian, because I’m Russian to learn your phone number.” He says.

 

Her nostrils flare and he thinks she’s going to hit him. Instead she snorts. Her laughter is highly undignified and shatters the whole ‘Ice Goddess’ thing she has going. He chuckles along with her.

 

“You are, how you say?-- Huge fucking nerd!”

 

“Sounds like you know how to say that just fine.”

 

“Ты такая красивая.” She says.

 

“I still don’t speak Russian.”

 

“Sorry, I was talking to myself.”

 

Her voice is deeper when she speaks English. Lower, more monotone. In Russian her voice moves like choppy waves.

 

“What’s your name?” He asks her.

 

“Yulianna.” She says.

 

“That’s a pretty name.” He doesn’t think too hard about it.

 

“And you?”

 

“I’m Chris. Chris Redfield.”

 

Her fingers are long and calloused as they walk up his arm.

 

“Well, Chris Redfield. Shall I buy you another drink and ‘get to know you better’ or should we skip the niceties and go back to you apartment and fuck like animals.”

 

“That’s certainly a forward proposition.” He says.

 

She bites her lip and for a moment he sees vulnerability there.

 

“You know, I don’t usually hook up with strange women.”

 

“Strange men are okay though?” She sees through him.

 

He stammers and she nods toward his bathroom hook up. How did she..?

 

“Have you been stalking me?” He bristles.

 

“Please. Don’t flatter yourself. You’re an open book.” She turns back to her drink.

 

“Wait,” He brushes his hand over her sleeve, “Yes. Let’s go, okay?”

 

She pauses in her wounded pride to finish her drink. She summons Olga with a crook of her finger and hands the woman a wad of rubles. She murmurs to her and points to Chris.

 

Strange night. First time he’s gotten picked up by a woman. She’s even a better gentleman than some of the regulars that he services.

 

The lights of the city cast a red-orange glow on the snow. It reminds him of flares and bloody spotlights. Though he does not know why he knows what those look like. Maybe he was in a car accident? Maybe that’s why he can’t remember.

 

Yulianna is content to walk beside him. He falls into step with her easily. They’ve barely touched, and yet he’s buzzing with excitement. His cock is thick as a rod and straining his jeans.

 

His apartment is a dump, but so is everywhere else in this part of town. At least the door locks. They climb the lobby stairs up to his door. She leans against the radiator while he fiddles with his keys. Her eyes on him make him clumsy.

 

The door swings open and he gestures ‘ladies first’ with an arm. She grabs his hand and tugs him behind her. With agility unknown, she slams him against the door and attacks his mouth. The vodka on her tongue is an edge in his mouth. He groans and kisses back with equal fervor. Her hands are everywhere. His hair, unzipping his jacket, his belt and then his fly.

 

“Jesus,” He groans as her thumb swipes over the head of his dick.

 

She smirks against his lips and then takes a savage bite to his jaw.

 

His heads spinning as she pushes him towards his bed. He’s tripping and stepping out of his jeans. She’s pulling his shirt over his head and shoving him onto the mattress. She stands in the doorway looking feral. Then she stops and fixes her hair.

 

“I’ll be right back.” She says.

 

“What?!”

 

“Calm down. I just need to freshen up.”

 

She disappears towards his bathroom. Chris thumps his head against the mattress and stares at the ceiling.

 

What the hell is he doing?

 

He hears the soft thud of socked feet and looks up at the doorway. She’s probably cleaning her vagina or whatever.

 

Instead he’s met with the sight of Yulianna, one hip cocked, wearing a strap-on. Chris’s eyes widen and his mouth waters.

 

“You’re… You. You certainly came prepared.”

 

“Like I said, Redfield, I’ve got you pegged.”

 

He laughs, a little drunk and a little hysterical. She’s still got a T-shirt on but she sheds it as she saunters to the bed.

 

Tattoos. Wow. She has a large floral piece on her chest and her arms… those don’t look like Russian tattoos. Those look like American military tattoos.

 

His train of thought is stopped by Yulianna’s kiss. It’s softer than before. He feels the whole shape of her mouth against his. He licks the dimple of her chin and traces a line from a freckle on her jaw to her cheek. He could kiss this woman forever. Her saliva is the best thing he’s ever tasted.

 

Her hand is cupping his dick loosely. He whimpers and grinds against it. She pulls her lips away and he follows. She nudges his lips away to speak. It doesn’t stop him from kissing her jaw and neck.

 

“Where is your lube?”

 

“Bedside, duh.”

 

“Go get it and spread.” She gives his ass a slap.

 

Eager, he crawls across his bed to fetch the bottle. He wiggles his butt at her and slides his boxers down. He hears a choked little sigh and gives her a coy look over his shoulder.

 

She looks on the verge of tears. His brow furrows in confusion. She tugs him back for a kiss and completely melds their torsos together. Her skin is warm and soft. Her nipple brushes against his and he hisses.

 

She takes the lube from him and squirts a healthy amount on her hand before palming the dildo between her legs.

 

“Prepare yourself.” She orders.

 

“Wouldn’t you rather do it?” He whispers against her mouth.

 

Then he’s being pushed onto all fours and she’s leaving wet kisses on his ass. She teases by kissing just along the cheek, almost to his hole before switching sides. He pants against the sheets.

 

“Please.”

 

“Please what?”

 

“Fuck my ass.”

 

“With what?”

 

“Your mouth. Your fingers. Your dick. Jesus, please, just anything?”

 

“As you wish.”

 

Her slick fingers dart inside him. Chris pushes back against them and lets out a grunt. Her pace is wicked and fast. It feels like a minute’s only gone by and she’s already got him at the breaking point and then she adds another finger.

 

“Where have you been all my life?” He gasps.

 

Yulianna mutters something in response and removes her fingers. He makes an undignified yelp at the loss.

 

“Relax,” She kisses his spine, “Roll onto your back.”

 

Chris obeys. He breathes heavily. Yulianna stares down at him. They lock eyes as she pushes one of his legs over her shoulder.

 

She lines them up and slips inside. It feels so good he thinks he might cry. God, just the right fit. It’s like they’ve been doing this for years.

 

Yulianna starts with slow and deep thrusts. She’s deceptively strong. Her fingers make white indents on his thighs. She’s pulling his legs around her waist and hovering above him. He’s surrounded and it’s intoxicating.

 

She builds him back up again. He’s teetering on the edge. She pulls out again and he actually sobs.

 

“Please.”

 

He hears the sound of buckles being loosened. He looks up at her to see she’s taking the strap-on off.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I want to finish together.”

 

“I’ve got some condoms in the drawer.”

 

“No matter. I can’t have kids.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m not.” But a shadow crosses her face.

 

“So, bareback?”

 

His palm brushes over her ass. She gives him a half smile and slides onto him. He grunts at the added weight. Wow. Girls feel pretty good.

 

Or maybe it’s just this girl.

 

Her fingers slip back inside of him. She guides one of his hands to her mound. His fingers slip slide in search of the thing. That little nub. He finds it and she gasps. She goes wild on his dick. It’s a little alarming. He holds her hips steady as best he can. He sees stars behind his eyes as he comes.

 

Chris feels tears splatter his chest. She’s clenched above him with her fingers digging into his shoulders. A few more tears drip down her nose. She wipes it and relaxes.

 

“Sorry, that happens with really intense orgasms sometimes.”

 

He doesn’t call bullshit, but he thinks about it. Instead he pulls her to his chest and kisses her forehead.

 

They kick at the bedspread until the covers free to be pulled over their bodies.

 

“Не запомний меня.” Yulianna breathes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Chris wakes up feeling satisfied and a little sore. He scratches his stomach and inspects the clock. It’s half noon. He hasn’t slept this late since he was in college. He groans and searches for his underwear. He should really know better than to sleep in the nude in this weather. Edonia’s not quite Russia, but he doesn’t want to tempt fate to freeze his nipples off or something.

 

His house smells like pancakes (and sausage).

 

What the hell?

 

He expected Yulianna to be gone. The terms and conditions of a One Night Stand being: you leave after one night.

 

You don’t stay and make pancakes.

 

Chris pisses, puts some pants on, and then aggressively makes his way to the kitchen.

 

She’s wearing one of his shirts and jeans that hug a very nice ass. Chris tries to maintain his outrage, but the food is tickling his brain with the smell. It’s amazing and so familiar.

 

“Are you married?” She says.

 

Chris’s hand goes to the gold band on his necklace.

 

“Maybe. Why?”

 

“Just wondering if I’m some kind of whore ruining a marriage.”

 

“Haha, no. If anyone’s the whore here, it’s me. That is, if I even am married.”

 

He says it lightly. The ring feels heavier against his chest. He’s thought about selling it. The part of him that isn’t damaged and shitty won’t let him.

 

“If I am, I sure feel sorry for my spouse. I wonder what they told them.”

 

“You went missing.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I’m assuming you went missing.”

 

“Something like that.”

 

She flips the pancake with her right hand and stirs the sausage with her left.

 

Her left hand has a wedding ring tan.

 

“Are you married?”

 

“I was.”

 

“Didn’t work out?”

 

“It might yet.”

 

She brings him a cup of coffee. He opens his mouth to say ‘black, two sugars’. The coffee is dark and sweet. He looks at her over the rim.

 

Yulianna has long fingers. A pianist's fingers. She runs them over keys as she plays the Moonlight Sonata. Those fingers pick locks and assemble guns quickly. Those fingers that have been inside him.

 

Chris’s throat bobs. He puts his coffee down and moves behind her. He wraps his arms around her waist and buries his nose in her hair.

 

“Do you think… that if given the chance to start your life all over--would you make the same decisions? Fall in love with the same person?”

 

He kisses her head and considers it. She waits. She’s methodical in the process of pouring batter, flipping pancakes, and putting them on a plate.

 

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what my choices were now.”

 

“You have retrograde amnesia.”

 

“And you’re not from Russia.”

 

“I dunno, I am Russian with these pancakes.”

 

He folds his lips over his teeth and looks at the wall. He is so mad. That joke was fucking awful.

 

“Why are you here?”

 

“Well, it’s too cold to open the front door right now, so I figured I’d make you breakfast.”

 

Chris blows a breath out by the shell of her ear and turns away.

 

“Please don’t lie to me.”

 

“I’m not. You weren’t very specific with your question.”

 

“Are we married?” He says.

 

She widens her eyes and gives him an exaggerated shrug and Chris swears he sees red.

 

“Is that an offer, Redfield? I did rock your word pretty hard last night.”

 

Flabberghasted, Chris storms off to his laptop. He can settle this himself. He opens Google and searches ‘Distinguished Service Cross’. (Small and tattooed on her bicep.)

He finds a list of notable recipients on Wikipedia. From there he just narrows it down to the women.

 

“Pancakes are done!” Yulianna calls from the kitchen.

 

So far most of the women on this list are World War veterans. He tries one of the more recent entries: ‘Jill Valentine’.

 

She has her own wikipedia article. This woman’s whole history is on the page. No picture though. Early life, Military Service, S.T.A.R.S and Raccoon City Incident, B.S.A.A, Apparent Death.

 

Chris feels a headache coming on. Those acronyms sound familiar. He knows he’s been to Raccoon City. He remembers what the leaves look like in fall.

 

He should have tried googling himself instead. That would probably provide answers.

 

“Are you still pouting?”

 

Yulianna is leaning against the doorframe. She’s brandishing the flipper like she’s going to do something devious with it.

 

“Come. Eat.”

 

“Two of my favourite things.” Chris murmurs.

 

The corners of Yulianna’s mouth twitch. It’s a ghost of a laugh. Her muted expressions make him think of some kind of alien masquerading as a human and doing a sub par job.

 

She takes his hand and without thinking he starts playing with her fingers. It makes her expression change to that pained one again. Chris decides he hates that expression. He kisses it off her.

 

“Come on. Food gets cold fast in this country.” She says.

 

Her eyes are closed and she’s still talking into his mouth however. Chris brushes her cheek with the back of his hand.

 

“Okay.” He keeps his grip on her hand as he gets up.

 

The pancakes are perfect and she manages to make the same old kielbasa taste like home. Chris tries to remember the last time he had a decent home cooked meal. He can cook, he’s just never had the urge.

 

“Your husband is missing out.” He says.

 

Yulianna stares at him over the rim of her coffee mug.

 

“Maybe.” She says.

 

Questions curl around the tip of his tongue. He wants to ask her if the name Jill Valentine means anything to her. He wants to ask about the bite scars on her wrists. He wants to apologise for not being there, even if they are strangers. Chris feels like he belongs to this woman.

 

Instead he puts a hand on her thigh. She does that little ghost smile.

 

Chris gets up to do the dishes, because if she’s polite enough to make him breakfast then he’s polite enough to clean up afterwards. She gets up to dry and put them away. He hands her hot, wet plates and watches as she swipes across them efficiently. His hands are red and pruned.

 

Chris flicks bubbles at her shirt. Her eyes get even wider.

 

“You did not just.”

 

“That is a sentence fragment. Having an ESL moment?” Chris bites his tongue in a smile.

 

That’s when he gets it. Her full grin is beautifully imperfect. Her front teeth are crooked and while flat, look razor sharp. Her nose is wrinkled and the dimple in her chin sticks out in stark contrast. Chris can’t help but want to touch it.

 

His fingers leave wet trails along her features. Her smile sobers as he traces her face. Those eyes flutter shut. His thumb brushes her lip and push it down. She catches his thumb in her teeth and gives it a sharp bite. Shit, did she draw blood? A little bit of red dribbles from her mouth and her tongue chases it. He sees the blood stain on her skin. Chris’s blood.

 

She’s looking at him like she wants to devour him and he thinks that at this moment he might just let her.

 

Chris picks her up and puts her down on the table. He’s stepping out of his jeans and tugging hers off.

 

(Non, je ne regrette rien.)

 

He collapses and breathes heavily against her temple. She’s leaving bruises all over his neck and shoulders. Chris tilts his head for better access, but then she’s shoving him off and reaching for her pants.

 

She swears in Russian and pushes her hair back.

 

“I guess the honeymoon’s over.” Chris says and lights himself a cigarette.

 

“That’ll kill you.” Yulianna says.

 

“You smoke too.”

 

“I do not fear death.”

 

“You think I do?”

 

“I think that’s why you’re here.”

 

Chris snarls at her, “How fucking dare you.”

 

“How dare I?”

 

“Come barging into my life with all of your vague jabs and specific knowledge of my life. If I was something to you then say it, don’t dance around the truth.”

 

“I think you fucked up and now you’re. Hiding from yourself mostly. I think you don’t want to remember. You want to wallow in your own misery.”

 

Chris gets right in her face. She doesn’t even blink.

 

“I think you need to leave.” He says.

 

“Fine.”

 

She hops down off the table and dusts herself off. She’s silent as she fetches her bag. Chris stands with his fists planted on the table. His jaw keeps twitching as she passes.

 

Yulianna puts on her parka and walks out of his door (his life). He wants to break something or maybe cry. Instead he chooses to go have a nap.

 

On his pillow there’s a thick cream envelope. It has his name written on it. He feels the weight of it in his hands. He knows what this is. Old files, cases, pictures. All of his life’s history in size twelve font.

 

She’s giving him a choice. He can prove her wrong and open the package. Read up on himself (and her too). He’ll chase her to the airport and get on his knees, begging forgiveness.

 

Chris runs his wedding ring over his lips. If he reads this, it’ll go back on his left finger.

 

Option B. He puts it under the bed and lets the rats piss on it and the spiders build nests in the pages.

 

Chris lets it slip and slap onto the floor. He grunts and lies back on the bed. His laptop is sleeping in its google search for Jill Valentine. He knows that name and that face. He remembers the way she curls up like a cat on his chest when they snuggle. He knows that she’s missing a toe on her right foot (injury sustained in childhood, something to do with her mother.)

 

Chris pushes the packet under his bed and takes a nap.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jill Valentine is gently beating her head against the steering wheel of her car. This was a stupid idea. A bad, wrong (badong) idea. How could she forget how cold this country gets at night? She needs lava to clean the ice off her engine. She swears and considers her options.

 

  1. Call a Cab.

  2. Try to get the car to a repair shop, get laughed at, and then be charged a fucktonne of money.

  3. Try the wonders of Edonian public transit.




 

She has a plane to catch in four hours. The pooch (and Chris) has been thoroughly screwed this time.

 

Jill’s head snaps up as she hears the crackle of salt and ice on tires. She does a full mirror check and sees the cab pulling up. Her saviour. She reaches for her Walther.

 

There’s a gun being pointed at her through the windshield.

 

“Car trouble?” A voice purrs.

 

Jill beats her head against the steering wheel. She locks all the doors.

 

“Absolutely not.” She says.

 

“Дочка, you’ve come this far and didn’t even stop in to visit me?”

 

“It’s hard to plan visits when you don’t have an address, MaMa.”

 

Katenka Zolnerowich (nee Valentine) is, in a word, terrifying. The stump of Jill’s pinkie toe feels the phantom pain of the bullet going through it. A ‘training exercise’ she had during summer vacation.

 

Her mother jimmies open the back seat and tries to make eye contact with Jill through the rear view mirror. Katenka has blue eyes, not the same shade as Jill’s. Hers are darker and smaller. Her hair is short and red and her limbs are long and covered in kevlar and fur.

 

“What brings you to Edonia if not a visit with your Мамочка? Seeing that boorish, French Муж of yours?”

 

Of course she’s been following Jill, who has been following Chris.

 

“Please tell me you respected my privacy enough to not follow us to Chris’s apartment.”

 

Katenka raises the sniper rifle and points to the scope. Jill lets her head go back to resting on the steering wheel.

 

“And you wonder why I never visit.”

 

“Come, child. Let me take you out for a training exercise. I heard you’ve cheated death. Care to test?”

 

“Oh, MaMa, it’s been thoroughly tested. Now, kindly, get the fuck out of my car.”

 

Jill feels her mother’s boots press against the back of her seat. Katenka sighs and fiddles with her sniper rifle.

 

“Can I at least take you out for a meal?”

 

“I just had a big breakfast. Also, the last time I let you do that I woke up from my chinese food coma to being naked and chained to a radiator.”

 

She hears her mother chuckle fondly at the memory. Jill really wishes Chris was here to shoo her off. He has this special Mom-Be-Gone magic that scares Katenka away.

 

“Oh child, you were magnificent. Nude as the day you came screaming out of my womb--”

 

“Ew, Jesus Christ, Mother.”

 

“--Wielding that radiator on its chain like some kind of Medieval flail,” She rubs at a scar on her forehead, “the concussion you gave me. I’ve never been so proud.”

 

“This is it. This is the greatest day of my life. A true achievement. I’ve spent my whole life waiting for a day like this. Truly, it is glorious to behold. I wish every day could be this painful and humiliating.”

 

The back door creaks open and the car shifts as Katenka exits. She raps her knuckles on the window. The sound is muffled by her gloves. Jill looks up.

 

“I’ll give you a ride to the airport. I swear on your grandmother’s grave.”

 

Jill sighs and gives up. She leaves the car to be picked apart and frozen and grabs her bag. She gets into the cab and looks at the bottle of aether and a dirty rag on the passenger seat.

 

“Classy, MaMa.”

 

Katenka lights a cigar.

 

Jill puts her seatbelt on and fully expects to wake up in the middle of a Siberian wasteland with nothing but a block of wood.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jill wakes up to a cold stone floor and the sound of gunfire outside. Fan fucking tastic. Thanks, Mom. This is why she had a GPS tracking chip installed in her own brain (and Chris’s).

 

She finds her Walther in a crate with some other supplies (MREs, binoculars, a knife, and a flare). Her mother’s been generous this time, so this situation is probably awful.

 

Jill peeks outside to see mercenaries getting mown down by the Edonian military. Jill checks her outfit. Green, the colour of the rebellion. Awesome.

 

She is going to kill her mother, then Chris, then revive Chris and drag him back to Philadelphia where she is going to sit on him until he agrees to never leave again.

 

But first, she’s going to kick some ass.

  
  
  
  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Russian translation!
> 
> Я тебя люблю/“Ya tebya something something”: I love you.  
> Ты такая красивая: You are so beautiful.  
> Не запомний меня: Don't forget me.  
> Дочка: Daughter  
> Мамочка: Mother  
> Муж: Husband


End file.
